Campus Collection
by highlydysfunctionalsociopath
Summary: School sucks - even more so for John Watson, who has no idea what to do with the rest of his life. Starting university should have been a time full of nerves and worry; John's was far from it. Because it was then that he met Sherlock Holmes. Strangely, uni wasn't looking so bad anymore... (A small collection of Unilock ficlets, following John and Sherlock's life through university)
1. A Possible Alternative to Bunking Alone

Here's the first installment - I'll be making a soundtrack to accompany the series, so stay tuned for that :)

* * *

"Now, remember, don't get into any trouble, and don't let _anybody_ make you do a thing you're not comfortable with!"

"Mum, keep your voice down, please-"

"Oh, Johnny! Don't forget to call me, when you get there." Shaking off a messy kiss on his forehead, John Watson let himself be pulled into a tight hug, bone crushing and just a little too affectionate for being in public.

"Course I will, mum," he replied, voice muffled by the large expanse of coat fabric that was now chafing across his mouth and cheeks. "It's only uni – I'll be fine." Mrs Watson shook her head, pushing John away by his shoulders and surveying him with bright eyes. One hand pressed against her chest, while the other snaked out to ruffle her son's hair. John pulled a face, but Mrs Watson lips just trembled at the sight of her little boy.

"All grown up," she murmured, as John ran his fingers hastily through his short locks in an attempt to flatten them down. Before any tears could be shed on Mrs Watson part, a loud thundering signalled the arrival of the train and John hastily moved out of her clutches. Hefting his bag up onto his shoulder with one hand and grasping his ticket in the other, John gave her a parting smile and took two tentative steps towards the platforms edge. Around him, business men wore the camouflage of dark suits, brief cases in hand and papers tucked under their arms, with looks of disdain warping their features at the thrumming crowds of teenagers milling about them. Many stood in packs, chatting and laughing animatedly, giving off a buzz of energy that couldn't help but make John grin along with them. Before he had a chance to meet and greet, a harsh wind kicked up as the train pulled up in front of him, and he had to step back to avoid losing his ticket. People jostled for position, all elbows and feet as they moved to get a better spot in the queue that was steadily forming outside each car door. John hurried along with them, turning over his shoulder to give his mum a final wave and smile, before getting pulled along in the tide of passengers sweeping along the platform.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping on a disgruntled mum-of-two's foot in the chaos, and slipped in behind a prim and proper looking business woman, decked out in a fancy suit with scarily high heels. John steered clear of them, eyeing the leopard skin with suspicion, but managed to board the train with minimal injury. Taking a quick glance around the car, and at his ticket, he started to move down the aisle towards his seat. The train gave a lurch, and John had to grasp at the seat next to him to keep from toppling over – _time to find that seat_, he thought with an uneasy glance at the porters who were getting the train ready to leave. As the crowds of onlookers dispersed, John spotted his mother (walking with the train as it departed) and gave her a puzzled look.

"What are you doing?" his eyes asked, an incredulous squint forming on his face. Much to John's embarrassment, the majority of other passengers had sat down and the train had quieted, save the dregs of a few conversations floating through the air. His mother looked back at him with wide, damp eyes before mouthing him her answer (very obviously, it had to be said.)

"I love you." John groaned, ears burning, as he nodded noncommittally and gave her a reassuring smile. Much to his pleasure, the train took its moment to give another sharp heave and started to slowly chug out of the station. In a waft of wind that kicked up scattered leaves littering the tracks, John's mother was left behind with a final wave of her hand. Rolling his shoulder and glancing around the car, John willed his cheeks to cool down and moved to find his seat. Before he could take more than a few steps, however, a voice stopped him.

"You're sitting here." John turned to his left, following the sound of the deep baritone.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, eyes finding the stranger who had approached him. Sat alone (and opposite an empty seat, John noticed) sat a boy, looking to be about John's age. He was tall, with pale skin, sharp, angular features and a mound of dark curls that spilled, untamed, over onto his forehead and down his collar. His eyes were piercing blue, flecked with greens and browns, and John had trouble keeping his train of thought as they stared at him – no, _through_ him – over the top of the large text book clutched in the boy's hands.

"I said 'your seat's here.' Didn't you hear me?" the voice had taken on an exasperated tone now, laced with hints of barely disguised condescension which made John frown in annoyance.

"How would you know that?" he replied, grabbing the head rest to keep himself upright. "Look, I don't really know what you want, but-"

"I read your ticket." The boy countered, and gave John's look of surprise a crooked grin. John snapped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw, and nodded once. _Okay, then,_ he thought, and dumped his bag on the floor next to the guy's feet. He slid into the seat, knees knocking against the long limbs that were stretched out under the table. He placed said ticket in front of him and stared at it for a while before looking up at the boy, who was seemingly engrossed in the encyclopaedia-like hardback.

"Do you always read peoples tickets?" he asked, eyes trained on the ethereal features before him, "Or did I warrant curiosity?"

"I'm always curious," the boy replied, with a small shrug of his slender shoulders. "But that doesn't mean you didn't catch my eye." John's cheeks reddened again, which earned him another cheeky grin from Mr Mysterious. John settled on that nickname – _it fits well_, he thought.

"I'm flattered," John shook his head, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward in his seat. His eyes drifted from the boy to the world rushing by outside, all open fields and lazy country homes as they left the city far behind. Trees and hedges merged into one big, wobbly stroke of green which made John's head spin with the speeds. He shook himself mentally – this guy was weird…but John found he was curious himself.

"I'm John," he said, holding out a hand for Mr Mysterious to shake. The other boy glanced at it, momentarily lowering his book, a frown mottling his alabaster forehead. After a tense moment, John let the hand drop and shifted uneasily. _Okay…_he murmured, _not very social, then._

"I know," the boy blurted, burying his head back into the pages. Only black curls were visible over the top, messy and wild. John chuckled at the reply, shaking his head slightly.

"Ticket?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, not this time," the other replied, and John glanced at him in question. "I saw you with your mother." He admitted, and John saw another flash of mischief in his eyes as he continued. "She's going to enjoy a lovely weekend with her boyfriend, I'm sure." John stared at him, mouth falling open comically.

"Sorry – you eavesdropped on our conversation?" he asked indignantly, but the boy just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I merely observed," he replied. His tone was bored, as if this was something he had to explain regularly. _Well,_ John thought, _he's certainly not getting away with _this _unanswered for._

"What boyfriend? My mother doesn't have-" The boy sighed, closing the book with a snap and setting it to the side. His hands worked their way to his chin, long fingers propping up his head as he leaned on them. He took a breath, and then began.

"New shoes and dress, in colours that compliment her short stature and tanned complexion, coupled with the fact she's just had her hair done and has made an effort to wear her best jewellery to a train station clearly reflects the fact she's going straight to her boyfriend's house. 'Why her boyfriend,?' you say? No one would make that much effort for a friend, especially as you're tight for money. So, trying to make a good impression – but for who? The lack of your father today suggests he's out of the picture (recently divorced, I'd say, from the shadows under her eyes and altogether protectiveness of you,) so broadening her horizons and taking the plunge, as it were. With her son gone for the foreseeable future, there's nobody to question her actions or stop her from going -so, boyfriend. Fairly obvious, I would have thought." John stared at the boy, eyes wide and face a picture of shock. He shook his head, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard and muster up a suitable answer. When nothing witty came to mind, he settled for the truth. Even if it did sound a bit stupid.

"That was….amazing." the boy looked up at him in puzzlement.

"You think so?"

"Of course. Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people usually say…"

"Oh? What do people usually say?"

"Piss off." They grinned at each other, eyes locking and causing laughter to bubble up inside John's chest. He chuckled loudly, earning a few disapproving glances from nearby passengers. Stifling another laugh, he bit his lip and looked back at the boy whose eyes were dancing with withheld amusement. Watching him reopen his book to the correct page, his smile faded slightly and he frowned.

"How did you get that in one glance, though?" he asked, fingers worrying at the edge of his ticket.

"I told you – I observe." came the reply, quiet and low.

"Right," John nodded, brow still creased in confusion. "Well, it was all news to me…"

The boy looked up at him sharply. "You didn't know?" he asked, and flash of something akin to pity sped across his eyes, before dissipating quickly.

"No, I didn't," John mused ruefully, and pursed his lips. "She never said anything…" he trailed off, staring out of the window. After a long silence, punctuated only by the sounds of quiet coughing and the thrum of somebody's headphones, John spoke again.

"I still don't know your name." he reminded the boy, watching as he glanced up at him, eyes warming a fraction as a smile slid over his features.

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. To John's surprise, a long fingered hand slid into the space between them, and John reached out to grasp it in his own. A moment passed before both boys released their grips and retreated back into their own space. They sat in quiet for a moment, the silence stretching awkwardly, and John's eyes wandered to the thick book the pale eyes were scanning.

"Body of Work: Meditations on Mortality from the Human Anatomy Lab and the Fundamentals of Forensic Science?" he asked, mouth fumbling over the extensive title. Sherlock looked up in surprise, as if suddenly remembering John was there.

"Yes." He replied, and turned it over in his hands. He ran his fingers along the title, almost lovingly.

"Any good? I could do with some light reading." John joked.

"More of a hobby, actually," Sherlock admitted with a shy smile. Interest caught, John moved his elbows to the table and rested his chin on his hands.

"Really?" he asked, his tone curious. "What kind? A catch-me-before-I-kill-again sort of hobby, or are you more of a science geek like me?" _Like me? Stop it, Watson. He doesn't want to know._

"Neither, really. I solve crimes." His tone was matter of fact, as if it was every other person's interest. John stared at him for a moment – _definitely not joking,_ he thought.

"_You _solve crimes? What, with the police?"

"The police come to me when they're out of their league."

"When are the _police _ever out of their league?"

"They're always out of their league." John eyed him suspiciously – was this guy for real? John was interested, though, and it seemed like Sherlock was surprised at that. He kept giving him strange glances, as if sizing up when and if he'd get up and leave. _Not going to happen,_ John thought with a smile. Of all the people he could have ended up next too…

"I can see you have questions," Sherlock cut in, sighing in mock exasperation. John nodded, still smiling. Leaning forward in his chair, he ran a hand through his short hair before answering.

"So, you're a detective? What're you doing going to uni, if you already have a job?"

"I told you, it's a hobby. I solve crimes in my spare time."

"What do you study, then?"

"What do you think I study?" John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock's tone. _Is he flirting?_ _No, stop. Don't think about that right now. Answer the question, Watson._

"I, uh," he cleared his throat, giving himself a small shake. _Get it together. _"I don't know…science of some sort?" Sherlock scoffed - his eye roll was implied.

"Fair deduction, but I _was_ hoping you'd go into detail." John folded his arms, huffing in protest. Why was this man so bloody…

"This is stupid – You know I have no idea how to do what…you do." He gestured vaguely with his hand, eyes shifting over Sherlock's smug features. Infuriating - that's what he was.

"Giving up so easily, Doctor?" Sherlock's tone was teasing and John's heart gave a small flutter.

"What do you mean 'doctor'?" John tried to sound accusing, but his voice was slightly rougher than he would have liked. He covered it up by shifting in his seat and coughing lightly. _Well played,_ he thought, _now you definitely look like an idiot. _Sherlock shrugged, giving John his isn't-it-obvious look. He just stared back, enjoying the small curl of warmth radiating from his stomach.

"It was a simple enough deduction. You want to be a doctor, am I correct? Actually, don't bother answering that, I know I'm right. You said it yourself earlier – you're a science geek, as you so eloquently put it. But that leaves a wide field, anything from physicist to microbiologist. So, what are you interested in? We know you're short for money, quite obvious by the clothing and the state of your mother, so something well paid would benefit both of you. Something well paid in the field of science? Doctor is the obvious choice, and Cambridge has the top score when it comes to league tables. That, coupled with the fact I can see the books in your bag, led me to conclude you aspire to be a doctor. I'd say it was your mother who encouraged you…but that's not all is it?" Sherlock leant forward, tipping his head to the side, with a look so intense it left John speechless. Not that he was in any state to reply anyway…

"Sport was your first interest when applying to university. You wanted to try for Sport Science, following your successful youth playing football, no…rugby, but your mother insisted on being a doctor. I doubt you wanted to go through with it, but the thought of disappointing your mother was enough to put you off. She's the only parent you had left, and judging by the lack of any siblings at your departure, I'd say you're an only child. But the broken veins on your cheeks suggest you also had a passion for music. That and the faint smell of cork grease on your fingers, shows you're still not sure what path you want to take and instead are trying to juggle all three. So, apply for medicine knowing you'll be accepted (you're clever enough, even you know that) which will quiet your mother and give you good prospects for the future – albeit, sacrificing your passion for sport and music, both of which you probably excel in." His deduction was bought to a close with a tight smile and a barely disguised air of smugness. His pale eyes were guarded under slightly raised eyebrows, fingers steepled under his angular chin. John licked his lips, mind racing. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with him.

"Sorry – what's wrong with my clothing?"

"Really? That's all you got?"

"Well, aside from the mild insults and frankly rude comment about my mother, the rest was pretty… awesome." _Lame, John, you sound so ridiculous…_ "And I'm still trying to figure out how you even got all that." Sherlock grinned, indulging in a small amount of pride on his behalf. John groaned internally – he should probably stop complimenting the guy. _Might give the wrong impression…._ then again, there probably wasn't an impression left to give that Sherlock hadn't already deduced.

"One of my many talents," Sherlock replied and John grinned.

"Got many more, then?"

"A few – not as impressive I'm afraid." John opened his mouth to reply, but before he could think of a decent answer a figure appeared next to their table.

"The freak's back, I see." John turned to the speaker, brow creased. She was tall and slim, with a wild mass of hair and dark skin. Her face was twisted into a sour pout, which mirrored that of the boy hovering next to her whose hair was lank and greasy. Sherlock's face morphed into a sarcastic smile, hands clasped together in mock delight, and John was surprised to see all the…emotion. Even if they were fake…

"Ah, Sally! Always a pleasure…And I see you've bought Anderson! Isn't this a treat?" Sally ignored him and turned to face John instead, who braced himself.

"What did he do, then? Did he follow you home?" John cocked his head to the side, face creased in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

"Sherlock Holmes." She said, widening her eyes and gesturing to the boy across the table. Her tone was matter of fact, glossing over Sherlock as if he didn't even exist. "He doesn't have friends, you know. So what are you?"

"I'm… nobody, I guess." John replied, slightly confused and more than a little annoyed. "Not that it's any of your business." Sally raised her eyebrows, glancing between them and the boy at her side gave a sneer; John felt a strong desire to punch it right of his pale face.

"Sorry, was there something else we can help you with?" Sherlock glanced at him out of corner of his eye, an amused smile forming on his lips. Sally huffed and folded her arms across her chest, before turning and giving Anderson a nod.

"Here's a bit of advice, mate. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." They left the car exchanging furtive glances and muttered conversations and John glared after them. He twisted in his seat, turning back to face Sherlock. He was staring out of the window, eyes guarded and face turned away. John frowned at the grim look on the other boys face and decided to change the subject.

"So…" he began, "Friends of yours?" Sherlock glanced up at him sharply, his eyes alight with something akin to anger. John backed off slightly, licking his lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock cut across him, voice sharp and grating. John winced at the venom in it and shifted under the penetrating gaze.

"Uh, this is my seat." He replied hesitantly, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I mean _here _here. Sitting with me." John stared at him in confusion, tapping his fingers nervously against the edge of the table.

"Look, Sherlock…if you want me to go, just say and-"

"_No. _No, I didn't mean that._" _Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, brushing his long fingers through his unruly curls, before letting it out sharply. "You heard what they said, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"So, why are you still here? I don't have friends, John. Most other people would have left by now, or made an excuse to get a cup of tea or something ridiculous. Usually for the best, actually, people are all so _boring-_"

"Sherlock, stop – I don't care what they said." Sherlock frowned again, opening his mouth before closing it again.

"You…don't?"

"No, of course I don't. Besides," John grinned and leant back in his seat, folding his arms jauntily. "I prefer to make my own deductions." At that, Sherlock lost his perplexed expression and a genuine smile slid across his face. He chuckled slightly, eyes darting away from John's face before returning and John thought he could see the faint hints of a blush peppering his cheeks. Supressing another grin, John turned his attention to the window and stared out at the rapidly growing city. Large buildings dotted the horizon, illuminated against the slowly darkening sky as evening set in and he noted with some apprehension that their destination was fast approaching. He swallowed hard and turned away.

"You don't have to be worried, you know." Sherlock said softly, so quietly that it took John a moment to realise the thought was directed at him. The boy's pale eyes were cast downwards, staring intently at the fabric of his jeans, but John could see them flicking in his direction.

"I'm not worried." John replied automatically, before cringing at the all-knowing look Sherlock shot his way. "I mean, of course I'm a little…nervous. Who isn't?" Sherlock made a noncommittal noise, a soft humming that John accepted as his only answer. He returned to fiddling with the cuff of his sweater, picking at it aimlessly. Sherlock had his head rested against the back of the seat, eyes closed and hands pressed together below his chin. John watched him for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. His eyelashes were stark against pale skin, as were the blue veins that traced along his neck and wrists. John shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. _Stop it, _he told himself firmly, _just stop. He doesn't have friends. He told you that himself._ Taking another long breath, John yanked his headphones out of his rucksack and pressed them into his ears harshly, switching on his music and settling back into the seat. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the faint brush of Sherlock's leg against his as he shifted, and forced himself to relax. Before long, the steady drum beat lulled him to sleep and he drifted away.

John woke with a start, blinking blearily into the dull light of the train car. His headphones had fallen out and rested in his lap in a tangled mess, guitar chords blearing from them mutedly. He sat up wearily, running a hand through his hair, and stifled a yawn before remembering he had company. John froze, turning his gaze to Sherlock who sat looking at him.

"Morning," murmured the deep baritone, and John smiled weakly.

"Sorry. Dozed off." He replied, voice rough from disuse.

"Only for 32 minutes. It's perfectly acceptable." John decided not to answer that, but gave Sherlock a small smile anyway. Glancing down to the table, he noticed the coffee cup placed on the table top before him. _That's new, _he thought and glanced up at Sherlock questioningly.

"You got coffee?" he asked incredulously and Sherlock nodded stiffly, lips pursing slightly.

"Of course. There's still 2 hours and 27 minutes left of the journey and I assumed you would be in need of refreshment." the boy replied, and his face tightened as John moved to take a sip. "I, uh, wasn't sure if you took sugar so I thought it best not to add any. If you need any more milk I can-"

"Sherlock," John said, smiling, "It's fine." Sherlock released a breath, moving to take a sip of his own cup. They drank in silence, eyes focussed elsewhere.

"Do you have one?" Sherlock asked, the sudden break of silence causing John to glance up in surprise. He placed his cup on the table carefully before replying, face questioning.

"Do I have one what?"

"A dorm mate. For university." Sherlock's tone was blunt and he was furiously avoiding John's eye. John's heart gave a leap at the words, but he made his face seem neutral.

"Why do you ask?" his tone was bored, his face passive, but underneath John's pulse was hammering double time. _Keep it together,_ he thought and shifted lazily in his seat. Sherlock's mouth was pressed into a thin line, the tips of his ears going an adorable pink colour and John could see the internal struggle as plain as day.

"I was just wondering," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth and John gave in, granting him a large grin. Sherlock visibly relaxed, giving John an annoyed glare.

"Now that you mention it, I don't. What are you suggesting?"

"A possible alternative to bunking alone." Sherlock glanced up at him from under his eye lashes, a small smile ghosting across his lips. John nodded slowly, chewing at his bottom lip.

"Got someone in mind, then?" he teased, revelling in the sharp glances he was being greeted with. Confidence – it was all about confidence.

"Perhaps. That all depends on your view."

"Well, that all depends on the person." John scratched is chin before giving Sherlock a brief once over, the other boy staring back with eyes bright with mischief. All the tension flooded out of John's body, nerves being replaced with a pleasant tingling that spread slowly through his stomach, accompanied by a shared chuckle with the stranger in front of him. Things were looking up; John hadn't even stepped onto campus yet.


	2. What A Night

Hello again! Another quick unilock fic :) The song can be listened to on Youtube (I can't put the link on here, but it might be cool if you read along with the song) It's called December 1963 by The Four Seasons - I had to edit the end of the fic a little, so it doesn't fit exactly with the lyrics. Awesome song, though :) All mistakes are mine - Enjoy!

* * *

_Oh, what a night__  
Late December, back in '63  
What a very special time for me  
As I remember, what a night_

"No. Definitely not."

"Please?"

"No."

"Sherlock-"

"I said no. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what? I'm not looking at you like anything!"

"Yes you are! With your big eyes that go really wide, you look like a wounded puppy for God's sake. Why do they do that? Stop them from doing that, John." John gritted his teeth, drawing a slow, laborious breath. They'd been at this for the past hour. What John had hoped would be a relaxing free period had turned out to be an annoyingly repetitive argument – and Sherlock wasn't backing down.

"Sherlock, this is our chance to get to _know_ people. We've been here for, what, 3 weeks, and so far you haven't really stepped out of this room apart from to go to lessons, haven't talking to anyone aside from me and have refused to do anything that would involve social interaction which, frankly, is everything except going to the library."

"I thought you liked going to the library! You told me you didn't mind-"

"Of course I don't mind. It's just getting boring, Sherlock. I want to go out; I want to meet new people." Sherlock gave him a withering look, adjusting himself in his sprawled position on his bed. His long legs were flailed to the sides, arms tossed out to the side dramatically.

"Why? Why do we need to meet new people? I'm happy just talking to you." John smiled wearily, running a hand across his cheek. God, this was difficult. On the one hand, he wanted to just agree with Sherlock and spend the night relaxing and studying and generally doing nothing. On the other, John was adamant that Sherlock needed to get _out_.

"That's flattering, really, but I still don't see your point. This is uni, Sherlock. You're a student now – this is what students do."

"I'm not your average student, John."

"You're coming."

"I'm not."

"Fine," Sherlock glanced at him sharply, eyes narrowing at the submission.

"What did you say?"

John sighed, heaving himself up from the edge of his own bed. "I said fine. Don't come with me. Stay here by yourself. It's your loss…" Sherlock sat up with a flourish, unfolding his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. He glared at John steadily, and John could see the curiosity burning slowly in his eyes. _Wait for it…_

"What's there that I'd have any interest in?" _Bingo, _John thought. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, nothing really." He replied, voice tired and only slightly teasing. "I mean, I just remembered you had that case you were working on, and thought you might want to come. To collect evidence, or whatever it is you do." Glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, John noticed the frown that coasted over the boy's brow and the slightly twitch that his lips gave – his interest was piqued.

"Explain." Sherlock demanded and John supressed a grin, before turning and wandering into the small kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked, turning his back to Sherlock and taking his time picking 2 mugs out of the cupboard. He felt Sherlock stalk up behind him, his tall, imposing figure towering behind him. John turned slowly. Sherlock's eyes were dark and threatening but John could see flickers of amusement swirling underneath.

"I said explain."

John let out a long sigh. "Well, I just thought you'd be interested. Soo Lin will be there, so it'd be an opportunity to talk to her..." He felt Sherlock tense in front of him, eyes narrowing. "But if you don't want to go, that's fine. I'm sure I could ask her a few questions." John supressed another grin as Sherlock's mouth puckered and he turned on his heel, marching back into the bedroom.  
With a thump he collapsed back on his bed, face turned towards the wall. With a loud, anguished sigh Sherlock pulled his knees firmly to his chest.

"Fine, but this doesn't mean I'll enjoy myself. Because I most certainly _won't."_ John chuckled, sloshing hot water into their cups. "Party…" He heard him mutter, voice soft and muffled by various pillows that had now been pulled unceremoniously over his head. "Really, John, I don't see the point…"

_You know I didn't even know her name_  
_But I was never gonna be the same_  
_What a lady, what a night._

_Oh, I  
I got a funny feeling when she walked in the room  
Yeah my, as I recall it ended much too soon  
_

Sherlock sighed, for what seemed like the 100th time that evening, and looked expectantly at his watch before calling loudly into the bathroom. "For God's sake John, you look fine. Now could we please just _go?"_

"Would you just hold on? Why are you in such a rush anyway, I thought you weren't even keen to go?"

"Irrelevant. What is important, though, is the fact the party started 9 and a half minutes ago and we haven't even left the dorm yet."

"Sherlock, no one turns up to parties on time anyway."

"That destroys the point of even _having_ a start time." John closed his eyes and counted to 10 before reopening them. _Just breath,_ he told himself, _try and stay calm.._. When he did, Sherlock was leaning against the door frame, hair askew as normal and foot tapping restlessly against the cheap, linoleum floor. John glared at him in the mirror. How was his hair so perfect? John didn't think Sherlock had actually brushed it at all today, yet it fell like he'd just walked out of the world's best hairdresser. Clad in dark, skinny jeans and a tight purple shirt that was practically screaming around the buttons he looked like something fresh of a bloody cat walk. Running a hand through his own cropped locks for good measure, John straightened his collar and turned around with a huff.

"Your hair looks fine." Sherlock said and John walked around him with a scowl.

"Shut up." He muttered, yanking on a jacket. Sherlock's mouth curved into a small smile as he reached for his own coat – John wanted to punch him. "Just because yours looks good all the time…" He heard Sherlock chuckle behind him, but John was already turning away and striding out of the door.

_Oh, what a night_  
_Hypnotizin', mesmerizing me_  
_She was ev'rything I dreamed she'd be_  
_Sweet surrender, what a night_

_And I felt a rush like a rolling bolt of thunder  
Spinning my head around and taking my body under  
Oh, what a night_

Sherlock's face twisted into disgust. "What the hell is _this?"_

"It's beer, Sherlock. Alcohol. Please tell me you know what-"

"Of course I know what alcohol is, don't be ridiculous."

"Well, then, take it." John shoved the drink into Sherlock's hand, fighting to be heard over the thumping music that was blaring through every room. Bodies were mashed together everywhere you turned and it'd taken John a good while to fight his way towards the drinks table. Luckily, he'd made it back to Sherlock in one piece and they were now milling awkwardly at the edge of the room, elbows brushing in the confined space. He took a sip of his own drink, swilling it around his mouth thoughtfully as he watched Sherlock sniff derisively at the cup John had given him. "Just try it, Sherlock. You might like it."

Sherlock frowned doubtfully, before lifting it slowly to his lips. He took a tentative sip, a brief brush of lips against the dark liquid, before pulling back and holding it at eye level. His mouth twisted, delicate lips pursed, cheekbones thrown into sharp relief in the dim light. John watched him, raising his eyebrows in expectation.

"Well?" he asked when Sherlock turned to him. "How was it?"

"Acceptable. It may take some getting used to, though." To John's surprise, the taller boy raised the cup to his lips again, throwing his head back and downing the entire cup. John's mouth dropped open as he watched Sherlock's curls drop over his eyes as he sucked in a breath, licking his lips thoughtfully. "I'll need more data." He said shortly, before turning on his heel and retreating swiftly into the crowd, curls bouncing purposefully with his long, gaiting stride. John stared after him. _What the hell…_ he thought, frowning. _Great, just great, now you're alone and you look like an idiot. Find someone to talk to. Now, people are staring!_ And they were. A few heads had turned to find where Sherlock had come barreling in from, and now found John standing with a drink in his hand looking like an utter moron. John shook himself mentally, rolling his shoulders, before carefully making his way into the crowd. He clutched his drink in one hand, the other held out in front of him, carving a path through the swaying crowd. Music blared out of every speaker, melding with the tide of chatter and laughter that was washing through the room and making it extremely hard for John to think.

"John?" shouted a voice from behind him. He turned quickly, head whipping around as bodies bashed into him from behind. Gravity played its card, causing John's beer to slosh inside the cup and very nearly escape it altogether. With a hasty curse, John gathered himself and turned to the speaker. It was Sarah Sawyer, a tall brunette from John's Human Biology class.

"Oh, hi Sarah!" he replied lamely, with a small smile. Sarah returned the smile with a friendly grin and gestured to the crowd around them.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she called, inching closer to be heard. John nodded ruefully.

"I didn't expect to be here either," he admitted, taking another quick drink. He could feel a small ache spreading through his forehead, the tell-tale sign that the music really was too loud. And where the hell was Sherlock? He only went to get another drink, but John couldn't see him anywhere…

"John? Did you hear me?" John jumped, eyes snapping back to Sarah.

"What? Sorry, I-" she laughed good-naturedly, cutting him off much to John's relief, and gave him an easy smile.

"I asked who you're here with." She replied, eyes sparkling. John swallowed, glancing around. No way to skirt around the question, no way to politely ignore it…but how should he answer?

"I'm, uh, I'm here with a friend, actually." He admitted. He felt heat rise up the back of his neck, and he scratched at it awkwardly. Sarah took another step forward, jostled by a couple in the process of leaving the room with their lips very much locked together. John glanced away awkwardly, eyes dancing over the heads of the people before him. No dark, wild curls to be seen, he noted, although most of what he saw was obscured by various flashing and strobe lights. Blinking, he turned back to Sarah who was staring at him expectantly. "I doubt you'd know them, actually." He finished lamely, offering her a weak smile. Sarah's own smile faded replaced by something John could only interpret as jealousy. Or maybe hunger…he wasn't entirely sure…

"I bet she's wonderful. I hope you're having a good night." Her voice was significantly colder and sharper to John's ears. He winced at her words, embarrassment spreading to his ears now. _She, _thought John,_ has more or less abandoned me._

"Ah, actually, it's not…I'm not here with..." he took a breath. "I'm here with Sherlock, Sarah." He braced himself, watching her eyes widen in surprise. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Sherlock? Sherlock _Holmes?_" she asked incredulously. John's stomach prickled at her tone.

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes." He replied, frown creasing his brow. He shifted on his feet and readjusted his grip on his quickly-diminishing drink. "Problem?"

Sarah blushed lightly. "No, not at all! I just, well, I didn't think he was your…type, that's all."

"What do you mean, not my type?"

"He's just so…so…"

"So _what,_ Sarah?"

"He's strange, John." John stared at her – now he was angry. She must have seen it emblazoned on his face, for she continued quickly. "God, that sounds awful, I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm not sure there's any other way you _could_ mean it, Sarah." John finished, giving her a dark look. "Do you even know him?"

"Well, not exactly… I've heard stuff, though. Everyone talks about him, surely you know that?"

John laughed harshly. "And you believe them? Seriously, Sarah, I thought you were better than that."

"John, I didn't think-"

"I think it'd be best if you stopped talking now. And I'm going to walk away." He gave her a grim smile and a small tip of his head before spinning on his heel and walking away sharply. He heard her start behind him but he brushed her off, shaking his head savagely. He shoved his way through the crowd, not bothering to apologise when he trampled over various pairs of feet. Face ablaze, he threw himself out onto the decking. Ignoring the startled glances of the sparse occupants strewn across benches and deck chairs, he breathed deeply through his nose and stared hatefully at the drink still clutched in his hand.

"I'm not sure that went as planned."

"Shut up, Sherlock." John replied wearily. He didn't bother raising his head. "Where did you go, anyway?"

"To get another drink, obviously." John could practically feel the eye roll, but he smiled with a small sigh as Sherlock held out a fresh cup. It hovered between them for a second before John reached out and accepted it gratefully.

"Thanks," he muttered and took a dejected sip. "And no, it didn't go as planned. It was a bloody disaster, that's what."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Not your finest hour." They were silent for a few moments, John's attention focussed on the night's sky above him and the distant thump of music from inside.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock?" he asked dejectedly. Sherlock glanced at him curiously.

"You wanted to come." He replied, more a statement than a question. John nodded, rubbing a thumb along his knuckles.

"I'm kind of regretting that, you know. We shouldn't have come," he grimaced slightly, "I've should've listened to _you_."

"First time for everything, I suppose. Come on." Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder, steering him away from the railings.

"What're you doing?" John asked in alarm, beer sloshing down his wrist. Sherlock grinned. There was a manic glint in his eye that set John on edge.

"I'm cheering you up. We're going to get drunk – you need it."

_Oh I, I got a funny feelin' when she walked in the room  
Yeah my, as I recall it ended much too soon_

"You don't understand, John," Sherlock slurred, hunching forward in his chair. "I _know _ash!" John giggled through the haze settling around him.

"All 240 types?"

"243, John, we've been through this before…" he rolled his eyes. John shifted forward in his seat, sliding down into it. He rested his head against the back, sighing. The distant thrum of music echoed through his head, vibrations pulsing through the floor. His beer, resting on the floor, rippled with every beat. Sherlock watched him with wide eyes, dazed and bright from alcohol, his shirt rumpled and untucked – _uncharacteristically casual for such an uptight bastard_, thought John with a smile. Sherlock returned the grin, steepling his fingers under his chin. Cocking his head to the side, he gazed at John curiously.

"I don't have friends." He stated, less slurred than his speech had been before. A lick of cold ran up John's spine.

"What?" he choked.

"I said I don't have friends." Sherlock continued, "Before, on the train. I said I don't have friends. _Everyone_ says I don't have friends." John didn't reply, just swallowed and picked idly at his sleeve.

"They're wrong, though." John glanced up sharply staring at the boy before him. Sherlock's eyes were warm and smiling and John found himself smiling back. "I just have one."

"You just have one." John repeated, and gave his head a little shake. _It's now or never, Watson. _Heaving himself up out of the chair, he stretched his arms up over his head before holding a hand out. The room span, tilting and flexing sickeningly but bright warmth had begun to curl around John's stomach that kept his attention occupied. "Come on," he said with a smile, "I want to dance before we leave." Sherlock protested as he was yanked him from his seat, John pulling him along behind him as he strode from the room. The taller boy hissed at John hurriedly.

"John, stop. People will… they'll think…" John silenced him with a sharp tug of his shirt sleeve. They'd reached the lounge again and a wash of noise greeted them as the door was pulled open. He stared up at Sherlock, eyes sparkling.

"I don't care what they think. Let them talk." With that, he pulled a stumbling Sherlock into the room, dragging him straight to the dance floor. Curious gazes flicked their way, accompanied by awkward whispers and hushed laughter but John ignored it all – he glanced at Sherlock, who was standing ramrod straight beside him looking utterly terrified. Chocking back laughter at the pained look on the other boys face, he called out over the music.

"Relax, Sherlock. It's all fine." Sherlock tore his gaze away from the crowd around them, dragging it slowly to stare at John in shock and disbelief. John opened his mouth the say something, anything, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"I always wanted to be a dancer, John." He said. John grinned, foot tapping to the swell of music that blared around them. Someone catcalled from the audience, and both boys looked at each other, laughter bright in their smiles.

_Oh, what a night  
Why'd it take so long to see the light?  
Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right  
What a lady, what a night_

"Never again, John, never again in my life."

"Oh shut up, you enjoyed yourself really."

"How anyone could enjoy themselves at something like _that_ is beyond me. I certainly won't be returning, and I certainly did not enjoy myself."

"You're dancing told a rather different tale, I'm afraid."

"What?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing…"

_Hey, my  
As I recall, it ended much too soon__  
__What a lady, what a night_  



End file.
